


Operation Maidwatch 2.0

by tobiyos



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Biting, Blowjobs, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, PWP, i mean there's kinda plot, maid Mishima, ryuji has a thing for legs, sex tears, thigh fucking, yes mishima cries during sex just look at him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 09:35:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24967543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobiyos/pseuds/tobiyos
Summary: He and Amamiya share a knowing glance.“What is it?” Mishima asks, and he’s definitely not excited to still have the opportunity for cute maid girl shenanigans, no way.“Operation Maidwatch 2.0.” Sakamoto says, with a smile that does not make Mishima feel safe in any capacity.---The whole maid service ordeal goes sideways, and Mishima still wants the maid outfit experience. Ren and Ryuji are happy to provide.
Relationships: Mishima Yuuki/Persona 5 Protagonist, Mishima Yuuki/Persona 5 Protagonist/Sakamoto Ryuji, Mishima Yuuki/Sakamoto Ryuji, Persona 5 Protagonist/Sakamoto Ryuji
Comments: 2
Kudos: 84





	Operation Maidwatch 2.0

**Author's Note:**

> I am sick and tired of the lack of Maidwatch trio content. I will build this city with my bare hands. Also, like, Mishima plays volleyball and is probably pretty good at it so... thighs... y'know?

Mishima wonders if he gets carried away too easily.

He’d been on his way to talk to Amamiya about something or other regarding the fan site—probably something unimportant, he really just uses it as an excuse to talk to the coolest guy in his class—and had caught the tell tail chirp of Sakamoto’s loud mouth over the quiet of the courtyard.

Playing at bullshit like _my interest is purely for research!_ had been relatively easy from there, especially if the endgame was getting to see a cute girl in a maid outfit bustle around and call him master or whatever. Amamiya gives him a look from behind his glasses like Mishima is full of shit, but he still goes along with it thankfully.

Either way, Operation Maidwatch is a go.

Things are going great until suddenly a maid is available in twenty minutes, and suddenly they don’t even know if this is _legal_ and then suddenly, Sakamoto is sprinting for the balcony. Mishima is a little disappointed about how little shame he feels doing the exact same.

He keeps a nervous hand on Sakamoto’s jacket as they hang just outside of the periphery of the balcony’s door, and at the sound of a woman’s voice, both boys jump so hard Mishima knocks his head against Sakamoto’s shoulder.

“Ow!” Mishima hisses. Sakamoto snaps, _quiet!_ Just in time for them to both hear Amamiya claim he’s a dad. _Jesus Christ._

The woman inside (who’s voice sounds really familiar, even if Mishima can’t quite place it) says she’s leaving, and Sakamoto goes and opens his big mouth again.

They barely make it around and through the door from the balcony into the bare kitchen without the woman seeing them, and Mishima is sure to keep a hand over Sakamoto’s mouth as they press up against the wall. Through the thin walls, they can still hear Amamiya and whoever the maid is (Mishima _swears_ he knows that voice up and down, though it’s kind of hard to imagine what she actually sounds like around the weird lilt she’s adopted. Mishima thinks if she yelled a bit more, maybe) talking quietly, though neither of them sounds… exceedingly pleased.

It isn’t until they hear the front door shut that Mishima moves his hand and takes a breath.

“Uh, guys?” Amamiya says from within the other room. He sounds a little like he’s in shock.

Mishima and Sakamoto stick their heads around the corner and find Amamiya looking extremely stiff in the middle of the room. And _woah,_ he was _not_ that sweaty a few minutes ago.

“So, that was a bust,” Mishima groans.

“No shit,” Sakamoto sighs back, leaning his arm onto Amamiya’s shoulders, still drawn tight. “Sorry to put that on you, bro.”

“No, you’re not.”

Sakamoto lets loose a startled laugh. “Heh, you got me.”

“What now?” Mishima says. “W-we shouldn’t call again, right?”

“Hmm… well…” Sakamoto says, leaning away from Amamiya and crossing his arms. His face scrunches up like he’s deep in thought. “We did kinda come up with another idea in case this went south. It ain’t as exciting as getting to see a hot babe in a maid outfit, though.”

He and Amamiya share a knowing glance.

“What is it?” Mishima asks, and he’s definitely not excited to still have the opportunity for cute maid outfit shenanigans, no way.

“Operation Maidwatch 2.0.” Sakamoto says, with a smile that does not make Mishima feel safe in any capacity.

Mishima wonders if he gets carried away easily up until he’s standing in Amamiya’s attic a few days after that, tugging at the skirt of a maid outfit Sakamoto bought. He’s sure this time. He got swept up in this one.

“Woah, dude,” Sakamoto had said, when Mishima had hit the top of the stairs. He’d spent the last handful of minutes standing in the downstairs bathroom of Leblanc, staring at his reflection in the dingy mirror above the sink, tugging at the ribbon tied around his neck. There’s a stupid little bell in the middle of the ribbon that jingles like he’s a cat if he moves hard enough, and the neckline on the top is so low he’d probably have, like, half a boob out if he wasn’t flat chested. And that’s not even bringing attention to the little white ruffles of a headband he’s got situated on his head, that’s impossible to keep from moving every four seconds.

“How did I let you two talk me into this,” Mishima groans, tugging at the bottom of the skirt again. It’s short, like _really_ short, doesn’t meet the halfway point of his thighs, probably doesn’t even meet the quarter-way point of his thigh, not to mention getting the garter on it had been a fucking nightmare. “You guys realize I play volleyball, right? Could barely get the stupid garter on.” He comes forward and stands in front of where Sakamoto and Amamiya are sitting slack jawed on Amamiya’s couch.

“Wait, you put the garter on?” Sakamoto asks. He reaches out and starts to tug the hem of Mishima’s skirt up. Mishima barely has enough time to swat Sakmoto’s hand away, but his face lights up red again.

Mishima rolls his eyes but feels embarrassment roll through him. _It was an option not to?_ “I just put on everything that was in the bag.”

“This is… kinda different from the one the other maid had on,” Amamiya says, and he reaches out too, though Mishima just kind of closes his eyes in a flinch and feels a hand rest against his leg, right above where the hem of the white knee highs are stretched tight.

“What, were her tits out?” Sakamoto asks, and Mishima doesn’t open his eyes even when Amamiya squeezes where the skin around the thigh highs puffs out a little bit. _Please, please, if there’s a god out there_ , Mishima thinks, _strike me down, like yesterday._

“Nah,” Amamiya laughs. “She had on way more clothes than this.”

“Really?” Mishima asks, opening his eyes. He sends a glare in Sakamoto’s direction. “Where did you even get this, anyway? I feel so exposed.” Amamiya’s hand on his leg squeezes again.

“I dunno, I asked Ann to help me. She knows about fashion stuff.”

“ _What_?” Leblanc is empty downstairs, Amamiya’s guardian having closed for the night and left Amamiya to lock up a few minutes after Mishima arrived, but he winces when his voice is a little too loud. Getting caught like this is absolutely the worst thing that could possibly happen to him. “You told Takamaki about this?”

“Dude, chill, not specifically.” Sakamoto throws him a toothy shit eating grin. His hands find the leg that Amamiya doesn’t currently have his fingers around, and he grabs on to Mishima’s thigh. Mishima can’t help the yelp that follows, if only because Sakamoto had shocked him when their skin met. “What, don’t want anybody to know about your nasty little maid fetish?”

“It’s not a fetish- It’s not an anything! I told you guys, I just wanted to see if the service was truthful in its promises!”

“Right,” Amamiya says, like he _absolutely_ doesn’t believe him. Amamiya scratches a few of his nails down the inside of Mishima’s leg. That’s something that shouldn’t make him shiver so hard he feels like he might come out of his skin, especially when he catches the keen look in Amamiya’s clear gaze. He’s not wearing his glasses, and something about that usual buffer being removed, coupled with the feeling of his hands warm against Mishima’s leg is making it hard to breathe more than Mishima would like to admit.

“Dude,” Sakamoto says, something in his voice like awe. His hands travel further up Mishima’s thighs, thumbs just brushing the hem of the skirt, hands massaging into the muscle there. “You weren’t kidding. Your thighs are like, hard as shit.”

Mishima is about to say something _else_ snarky about how he _had_ earned his spot on the volleyball team pre-Kamoshida, thank you, but one glance down at the way Sakamoto’s staring at his legs kinda makes whatever childish retort he had ready evaporate into a shaky breath.

“Um,” he says instead, proving himself extremely well versed in speaking.

There’s a moment, too long, where the room is quiet, and Sakamoto and Amamiya are just trailing their hands along Mishima’s legs, Mishima feeling an uncomfortable heat curling low in his stomach, skin starting to prickle like the way Sakamoto shocked him earlier is spreading across his whole body slowly.

“C’mon,” Amamiya says, and snaps the hem of Mishima’s sock over his leg. “Do some maid shit.”

“Oh, y-yeah!” Sakamoto says, like he forgot that he was there for anything but trailing his fingers over the muscles in Mishima’s legs. He pulls his hands away and Mishima takes a long breath because he’s certain he stopped breathing there for a moment or two. He reaches down into the bag he’d pulled the maid outfit from and presents Mishima with a fluffy black feather duster.

“Oh, you’re kidding me,” Mishima groans.

“C’mon!” Sakamoto grins in that way of his that constantly makes Mishima think he’s fucking with him. “Ren told me the maid yesterday said she’d clean and cook and do laundry, _along_ with the other services they offered.” Sakamoto wiggles his eyebrows and Amamiya just nods along solemnly like he’s having an unpleasant flashback. “A-and!” Sakamoto says, turning back to Mishima. “If you wanna know if they’ll actually go through with the services, you should step into the maid’s shoes, right? Like, if you won’t do it, they won’t.”

“Right,” Mishima says in a deadpan, as the duster is handed off to him. He takes a look around. “I guess your room _is_ really dusty, Amamiya-kun.”

“Yeah!” Sakamoto says in agreement and leans against the back of the couch like he’s just won a hard-earned prize.

Mishima turns around, but feels a hand catch in his before he can walk away. It’s Amamiya, with a very serious look on his face. “One more thing,” he says, and Mishima has a horrible moment where he thinks Amamiya’s voice sounds… different. A little rough around the edges, a little lower. He lets go of Mishima’s hand and leans back with Sakamoto, the same way too cocky grin finding his features. Sakamoto snickers.

“The maids were all cutesy and shit, according to this guy,” Sakamoto says, and Amamiya’s smile stretches wider.

“Like what?” Mishima asks, though the trepidation is seeking back into his bones now that he doesn’t have the anchor of both of their hands on him. He’s back to feeling like this is some sort of game he doesn’t get to be in on.

“C’mon, man,” Sakamoto whines. “You gotta says like… meow n’ master n’ stuff.” Amamiya nods very seriously by Sakamoto’s side.

“You two are full of shit,” Mishima says, but his face is kinda heating up at the thought of it. He’s not super opposed to it, he guesses, and is suddenly hit with the thought of him on his knees in front of Sakamoto and Amamiya, hands up in little paws, going _meow!_ like an idiot, and the gentle heat in his face turns into a flush that probably reaches down to the top of his chest.

“You don’t have to,” Amamiya says, and he doesn’t even sound disappointed, but Mishima kind of wants to see how they respond to him like that. A little bit.

“It’s fine,” he mumbles. And then tacks on a mumbled, “Master.” He’s greeted with Amamiya’s huge goofy grin, and Sakamoto’s laughter. “I can’t believe this,” he says, turning away.

Mishima supposes this could just be a way of Amamiya and Sakamoto tricking him into cleaning Amamiya’s room, but he starts dusting a little bit, starting with the worktable in front of Amamiya’s bed. There’s some stuff jumbled around on it (things that look a little suspicious on closer inspection, but Mishima has worse things to worry about currently) so he cleans it off and tucks some of it away, trying to kill the flush he can still feel.

The more he moves around as he works, the more he feels Amamiya and Sakamoto’s gaze on him, like they can’t look _anywhere_ else. It makes his skin feel warm in a way he doesn’t… _exactly_ hate. The little bell on his ribbon jingles every now and then, but other than that, it’s kind of the only sound in the room.

At some point, feeling bolder from the silence, Mishima leans over to pull his socks up a little higher, and hears the unmistakable noise of Sakamoto sucking in a sharp breath. He stands upright, realizing his mistake.

“Mishima?” he hears Amamiya say, and he looks over his shoulder from where he’d been bent over near a corner of the room, and catches Amamiya and Sakamoto leaning forward slightly from where they were against the back of the couch. “Are you… not wearing any underwear?”

Mishima feels like his whole body is on fire as he turns back around on his heel and reaches back to pull the bottom of his skirt down. Because here’s the thing. When Mishima was putting the maid outfit on in the bathroom downstairs, he had seen the length of the skirt, and realized the boxers he was wearing would show under them and had thought, well, that would ruin the illusion some. The illusion of _what_ Mishima was unsure, but now that he’s caught Sakamoto and Amamiya staring up his skirt, he’s a little unsure if he should have been worried about that, or the fact that his classmates would have realized he was wearing a maid outfit without anything under it on.

“I- Um- There’s-“ Mishima doesn’t really know what to say, and is just kind frozen with his hands pulling his skirt down again, though that’s exposing more of his chest from where the fabric opens over it. He’s _mortified_.

“Come here,” Amamiya says, and _oh._ Mishima likes the authoritative tone of his voice more than he’d like to admit. Sakamoto looks kinda dreamy in his gaze, though he’s still staring very pointedly at Mishima’s legs. 

Mishima shuffles back up to the sofa, hands still fisted in the hem of the skirt. There’s an apology on the tip of his tongue, that melts into a quiet open-mouthed breath when Sakamoto presses his thumbs into the part of his thighs that’s barely hidden by the outfit’s black fabric.

“Dude, no fair,” he says, kind of airily, hands still roaming the exposed parts of Mishima’s thighs. Mishima can’t tell if the way his body responds is a shiver or a flinch.

And this is… wrong, right? This isn’t how things should go. Their reaction should probably something along the lines of disgust, not the weird fascination in Sakamoto’s eyes, or the way Amamiya is looking at him like he’s trying to figure out how hard Mishima would jump if he moved too fast. He jumps a little bit when Sakamoto reaches down lower and hooks his thumbs under the edge of his socks before he slides them low enough that the entirety of Mishima’s thighs and knees are exposed.

“Why aren’t you wearing anything under the skirt?” Amamiya asks, though he doesn’t sound upset, Mishima supposes. More curious, and Mishima _doesn’t_ let himself think he sounds a little interested.

“It’s, um, t-they didn’t-“ the rest of his sentence kind of dissolves as Amamiya’s hands skim up the outside of his legs, and then take a hold on Mishima’s hips under fabric. Mishima’s breath catches, and he swallows around a breath that kind of hurts.

Mishima doesn’t dare say _anything_ really, because Amamiya’s hands are _very_ close to his dick (which is becoming more and more interested in said hands very fast) and Sakamoto is leaning closer to where his hands are resting on Mishima’s thighs like he kind of wants to see underneath.

Amamiya’s hands move a little higher, pulling Mishima’s skirt further up his thighs, and Mishima wrenches his eyes closed so fast he’s startled by how quick his reflexes are.

“Go on,” Amamiya says, and Mishima opens his eyes to Amamiya’s searing gaze, like it goes straight through him. His hands squeeze on Mishima’s skin.

“T-they didn’t fit under the skirt. I, um- “

“Didn’t want to disappoint?” Amamiya asks, and his hands move a little higher, his skirt a little further up.

“N-no,” Mishima manages, and his gaze darts over to Sakamoto, who’s also looking at him like he might want to eat Mishima alive. Which he may pull off, considering how close his mouth is to the muscle of Mishima’s thighs.

Amamiya’s hands drop away, and Mishima feels his skirt fluff out in a little bounce as it drops, though his skin feels colder for it.

“Sakamoto,” he breathes when Sakamoto’s nails scratch down his legs and then back up, and it sounds a little bit like Mishima is asking for something, though the only thing he can find to voice safely is territory like their names. His eyes are tearing up a little bit, though Mishima isn’t sure what it’s from.

“God, when’d you get so pretty?” Sakamoto mumbles, like he’s saying it more to himself than either of them. That draws Mishima’s attention back, long enough for him to see Sakamoto move the edge of his skirt with his nose and press a dry kiss to the too hot skin of Mishima’s legs.

Mishima hiccups, feels like he might actually start crying for real because he’s so _confused_ , when Amamiya grabs him by the hand and pulls him down into what little couch space is open between him and Sakamoto.

Amamiya is still holding his hand when he kisses him.

It’s not Mishima’s first kiss, despite what other people would probably assume, but a nervous peck with a girl on a playground in elementary school and what Amamiya is doing to him are two _very_ different things. Amamiya’s mouth is really, really warm, and a little wet, but not in a way Mishima particularly dislikes. Mishima does his best to kiss him back, but he doesn’t really know what he’s doing, and when Amamiya presses his tongue inside of his mouth he tastes like coffee Mishima wonders if it’s possible to suffocate during a kiss.

Sakamoto’s hand finds its way back to Mishima’s thigh, and he feels his mouth press a wet, open mouthed kiss just behind Mishima’s ear, and then slide down to his neck, all while his hand is still feeling at the muscles in his leg.

The hand Amamiya is holding Mishima with squeezes tighter around his wrist, and then Amamiya is reaching up with his other hand to hold the side of his face and tilt his face just a little, enough for Mishima to make a small noise of surprise. He doesn’t have the time to feel embarrassed by it before Amamiya gives a gentle tug on his bottom lip, and then he’s chasing Amamiya’s mouth as he pulls away slightly.

Mishima is trying desperately to figure out what to do with himself, but he can’t really think between Amamiya’s mouth on his and Sakamato’s tongue over the skin on his neck, especially when Sakamoto’s hand travels far enough up Mishima’s thigh that he brushes his knuckles against Mishima’s dick, and the little pants into Amamiya’s mouth turn into a low breath that sounds _way_ too loud to his ears.

He pulls his face away from Amamiya’s at the sound, watches Amamiya look at him from behind long, long eyelashes. His pupils are like saucers, and the little bit of grey Mishima can see around the edges is startlingly clear.

“Your fuckin’ thighs, man,” Sakamoto says, blunt nails tracing down the skin of Mishima’s thighs again. Mishima kind of wishes he had the wherewithal to tease him about it.

“ _Yuuki,_ ” Amamiya breathes, hand on his chin pulling him back into a kiss, and oh, okay, that’s Mishima’s given name. He has the brief thought that if Sakamoto had put his hand back against Mishima’s dick, he probably would have come. Mishima blinks twice, trying to clear some of the fog from his vision and his brain, and then he feels a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and the edge of his jaw, and then down his neck. Amamiya’s kisses on his neck feel nothing like Sakamoto’s, purely because they’re more teeth than Sakamoto’s, though Sakamoto has taken to sucking at parts of his neck that seem _very_ difficult to cover.

Amamiya lets go of his hand so that he can grip Mishima’s waist, and Mishima brings his now free hand up so that he can maybe cover some of the more embarrassing noises he’s making.

“Mishima,” Sakamoto says, and uses his hands to coax Mishima into straddling his lap, pushing up on his knees in the couch cushion. Mishima’s vision isn’t quite focused, and the only way he knows it’s Sakamoto’s hands is because his are much softer than Amamiya’s, and as soon as Mishima is on top of him, he gets said hands right back on his thighs, though he pushes his skirt as far up as it’ll go. “Fuck,” Sakamoto says, his mouth _so_ close to Mishima’s. If he wanted, he could probably reach out to kiss him first, but Mishima is kind of enjoying the way Sakamoto is panting into his mouth without kissing him. His hands feel up and around his legs, and then reach around to take a handful of Mishima’s ass and _squeeze_ and Mishima knocks their foreheads together with the shiver that trails up his body. “I didn’t know you had this much muscle on you, _shit,_ dude.”

“He looks so tiny,” Amamiya remarks, and it sounds like he’s far away, but he’s probably just leaning against the other arm of the couch. Mishima feels an extra hand trail over his calf where its folded over cushions.

“Still got itty bitty tits,” Sakamoto says, hands moving from Mishima’s ass up to chest. He gives Mishima’s pecs a good squeeze, that makes Mishima blush a little harder. Mishima sees Sakamoto shrug through blurry vision. “You can’t have it all.”

“Fuck off,” Mishima pants, though there’s no real venom in it. He feels Sakamoto’s laugh against his mouth.

“Nice hips though,” Sakamoto says, hands travelling lower, over his chest and his stomach and down to his sides. Mishima’s eyes slide closed. “Little waist.”

Mishima kisses him. He can’t really decide if he likes the way Sakamoto is talking about him, but it’s making his already feverish skin run superhot, and if he keeps doing it, he might pass out. He rests his hands on Sakamoto’s chest, feels the way Sakamoto growls into his mouth, nips at his lips.

Mishima sinks down onto Sakamoto’s lap, and feels when his ass hits Sakamoto’s thighs in the way Sakamoto’s breath catches. The hands resting on the front of Sakamoto’s chest wind into the material of his shirt, and Mishima rocks his hips forward, grinding Sakamoto’s erection into the jut of his bare hip underneath his skirt. He can feel Amamiya’s eyes on him, which makes him do it again, chasing the way Sakamoto’s kisses turn sloppy and the grip on his hips pulling him forward harder, faster.

It’s like some weird combination of heaven and hell when Sakamoto gets a hand around him again, pulling down Mishima’s dick in short, fast strokes. Sakamoto’s other hand is digging little nail marks into his thigh, and he pulls back from the kiss to fix his face on Mishima’s, like he’s watching fireworks.

“A-ah… Sakamoto-“ he manages, as the coiling tension in his gut builds. Fuck, _fuck_ he doesn’t want this to end so fast, but when a few of Mishima’s tears drip onto his cheeks and Sakamoto reaches up to kiss them away, his hand twisting once and _hard_ , Mishima’s little stuttered keen is the only thing that precedes him coming harder than he ever has in his life. He leans forward and buries his face in Sakamoto’s shoulder, arms wrapped tight around his neck, fingers twisted in his hair while Mishima’s hips give little jerks into Sakamoto’s as he keeps stroking him through his orgasm, eyes squeezed tight again.

“Ngh- shit,” is the first thing out of Mishima’s mouth when he’s managed to come down a little bit, Sakamoto’s come splattered hand resting on top of Mishima’s thigh. He feels a little extra boneless, like maybe he could fall asleep right there. But a twitch of his hips tells him Sakamoto doesn’t want to be done with him, and Mishima could bet the same for Amamiya.

Thinking about him makes Mishima throws a glance Amamiya’s way from Sakamoto’s shoulder, and sees Amamiya leaning against the arm of the sofa, gaze heady and fixed firmly on Mishima’s… well kinda his everything. His legs are spread wide, one propped up against the back of the sofa, the other stretched off towards the floor. Ah, well. You finish what you started.

Mishima manages to lift himself from Sakamoto’s shoulder, and pulls his leg over Sakamoto’s lap, leaning forward, just enough to put his face against Amamiya’s stomach. He presses his face a little into the warm cloth of Amamiya’s shirt. Amamiya rests a hand against Mishima’s cheek that he has no problem leaning into, eyes sliding closed.

“You should let me have it, Master,” he says, in a voice that _doesn’t_ sound like his, only because Mishima is sure he’d know if he was that blissed out.

Amamiya responds though, eyes fluttering a little as he glances down at Mishima, threads the hand into his hair.

“You, too, Sakamoto,” Mishima adds, turning his head just enough to be able to see if Sakamoto can see him. He’s embarrassed, but gives his ass a little shake, feels the hand Amamiya has in his hair pull his neck back further.

Sakamoto moving out from under his legs jostles him a little bit, but Mishima barely notices as Amamiya’s hand releases his hair and trails down his face, over his cheek, and swipes his thumb over his bottom lashes. Mishima doesn’t even realize there are tear tracks there, just feels way too pliable under Sakamoto and Amamiya’s hands. “Ryuji was right,” Amamiya says, as he moves his hand down to Mishima’s chin and presses his thumb past his lips. Mishima feels it flatten against his tongue, and his eyes flutter closed. “You are really pretty.”

Mishima peeks an eye open to look up at Amamiya. He looks kinda wrecked already, eyes half lidded and hair fucked up, chin propped up on his other hand.

“Dude,” Sakamoto says behind him. “Do you have any lube?”

Mishima makes a sound around Amamiya’s finger that sounds suspiciously like a _purr_ , though he feels disappointment settle when he sees Amamiya shake his head. He should be more nervous than this, first times and all ( _oh god,_ he realizes quietly, _my first time and I’m in a skimpy maid outfit_ ), but the idea of Sakamoto _not_ being able to do whatever he wants fills him with a disappointment so palpable it hurts. Amamiya presses down harder on his tongue, and Mishima feels a little more settled with it. “Fuck his thighs,” Amamiya says, voice even, and Mishima shivers forward, knocking his nose into Amamiya’s stomach.

“Shit,” Sakamoto says, and Mishima feels him slide his hands up over the curve of Mishima’s ass under the skirt. It’s _good._ It’s so good and Mishima attributes some of that to the fact that the skirt is short enough that Sakamoto doesn’t even need to move it to get to whatever part of him he wants, and he feels his dick start to harden again despite how recently he’s already gotten off. He arches his back a little bit, involuntarily. The attention is making him shameless.

Amamiya’s finger slips out of his mouth, and Mishima whines quietly, which earns him a little huff of laughter from Amamiya. “Didn’t know you were gagging for it so badly,” Amamiya laughs, pushing Mishima back enough so that he can unzip his pants.

Behind him, Mishima feels Sakamoto keep feeling over his ass, dipping down every now and then to feel over the meat of his thighs, and then, almost miraculously, Sakamoto presses a little bite to his ass that makes Mishima feel like he might actually die on the spot.

“Saka-ah, _Sakamoto,_ ” he says, and then groans when Amamiya pulls his face near where his dick is in his face. Sakamoto doesn’t stop the attack to his behind either, kisses turning into bites and sucks to the skin of his thighs and ass, eventually dipping down far enough that Sakamoto traces the place where his legs are pressed together with his tongue.

Mishima takes a cursory lick of Amamiya, and he’s bitter to the taste and so, so warm, but the little noise Amamiya makes above him is almost worth it.

Sakamoto’s ministrations pick up speed behind him, though it feels more like Sakamoto is just kinda drooling on his legs, which Mishima _wished_ he liked less.

Amamiya tilts his head back and just _breathes_ when Mishima sinks his mouth down onto his cock, like Mishima’s mouth is a blast of air conditioning on a hot day. He goes down on him as far as he can without choking, and fits his hand around what he can’t reach, because of _course_ Amamiya is perfect enough that even his dick is huge.

“Yuuki,” Amamiya says, tracing the edge of Mishima’s strained jaw with his fingers. He feels Amamiya’s hips twitch, and Mishima wonders how hard it would be to get Amamiya to fuck his mouth. Mishima groans and tries to file that away for later.

Sakamoto finally moves his mouth out from between Mishima’s legs with a breath of _ah_ and moves his hands from holding Mishima’s thighs together up to his hips. He’s really focused on Amamiya in his mouth until he feels Sakamoto pull him back by his hips, and then Mishima yelps around Amamiya’s dick.

There’s the sound of Sakamoto pushing his pants around his knees and then one of the hands on his hips moves, and he asks, “You okay with this?”

“Yes, fuck, _please_ ,” is out of Mishima’s mouth before he can really think of saying anything else, and then the unmistakable feeling of Sakamoto pushing his dick between Mishima’s thighs. His hands on Mishima, shifting so that Sakamoto can push his legs as together as tight as possible, thighs wet with Sakamoto’s spit.

“Sakamoto,” Mishima whines, face pressing forward into where Amamiya’s hips meet his legs. Sakamoto is dragging his dick through Mishima’s thighs like he’s really fucking him, pushing Mishima hard and pulling him back harder, just brushing Mishima’s dick where it hangs out of his skirt.

“Your fuckin’ _thighs,_ man,” Sakamoto groans, probably for the tenth time. “Fuck, they can’t be real.” Each thrust of his hips is hard, and Mishima can’t help the little hiccups around each noise he’s making, like Sakamoto is pushing the air out of him.

Amamiya holds Mishima’s face with both of his hands while Sakamoto fucks him, and Mishima does his best to _think_ about getting back to sucking Amamiya’s dick, but it’s kind hard when Sakamoto is moving him too hard for him to do anything other than pant into Amamiya’s stomach and rock back in time.

Sakamoto reaches down with a free hand and takes Mishima in his hand, and Mishima whines, dropping his face lower into Amamiya’s hips. Every stroke of Sakamoto’s hand is a little _ah_! On his lips, and the hands Amamiya has on his face are cradling him so that he can tilt his face up and watch Amamiya look down at him like he’s the prettiest thing in the world.

“Fuck, _fuck_ , gonna come on you,” Sakamoto says, and Mishima pushes his hips back, and arches his spine a little bit, and then hears Sakamoto growl before he feels Sakamoto’s dick twitch between his thighs and he’s digging his nails into Mishima’s hips, come covering a little bit of his stomach and the inside of his skirt.

When Sakamoto sits back, he pulls Mishima back with him, and gives Amamiya an eyeful of Mishima’s now fully hard again dick poking out from underneath the maid outfit. He probably looks blissed out as shit, off of one orgasm and lips pink, hair fucked up and thighs covered in come.

Sakamoto reaches up and turns Mishima’s face so that he can kiss him, and Mishima sighs into it like it’s the first breath he’s taken in too long. He opens his eyes to look back at Amamiya, chin propped up again on the heel of his hand, small, unreadable smile on his mouth.

Eventually, Mishima peels himself off Sakamoto and slides down to the floor, crawling so that he can get in between Amamiya’s legs. Amamiya pulls his leg down from the back of his chair so they’re bracketing Mishima in, puts a hand on Mishima’s head.

“I want to,” Mishima says, and _where_ did the shame he felt so acutely go? “Amamiya, can I?”

Amamiya nods, and Mishima leans forward and puts his mouth over him as best as he can, choking when he goes too far down. His jaw is sore, and he’s still hard under his skirt, but the more small noises he draws from Amamiya, the easier it is for Mishima to reach down and stroke his dick in time with the way his head bobs on Amamiya’s cock.

“Yuuki,” Amamiya says, pushing his hands through the hair sticking to the sweat on Mishima’s forehead. His palms are rough but the way he handles Mishima makes him feel like precious cargo, like Amamiya could break him if he really tried. He can feel tears welling up in his eyes again and has just enough time to glance up at Amamiya before they drip over his lashes. “Ah, gonna- “

Amamiya lifts Mishima’s face off of his dick before he comes, and one hand tracing under Mishima’s eyes and over his lips before he comes, Mishima’s eyes sliding closed. Amamiya holds his face while he comes, the fingers near Mishima’s mouth pressing some of it past his lips.

“There you go, pretty boy,” Amamiya murmurs, blissed out and reverent, which is enough to push Mishima into his second orgasm.

He covers his dick with his hand as he comes, leaning forward into Amamiya’s thigh, and bites down hard, listening quietly to the three of them panting in a room that was all too loud minutes ago.

“Ugh, fuck,” Sakamoto groans, and Mishima hears him shifting around on the couch, probably leaning in closer to Amamiya. “Operation Maidwatch the original didn’t have _shit_ on that, huh?”

Mishima opens his eyes long enough to look up and see Amamiya chuckle, before he leans in to kiss Sakamoto. Oh. That’s something to ask about later. Mishima closes his eyes back, and weakly squeezes the hand he has on Amamiya’s leg.

Amamiya’s hand reaches down again, stroking over Mishima’s cheek, and he leans into the touch, opens his eyes enough to see the slow way Amamiya kisses Sakamoto, like they’ve got a lifetime of kisses ahead of them.

Amamiya pulls away and looks down at Mishima. He has a nice little smile on his face, the intensity from earlier melted from his features for something gentler. Mishima’s stomach gives a small swoop at the affection. “There’s a bathhouse across the street. Think you can walk?”

Mishima snorts. “Sakamoto didn’t give it to me _that_ good.”

“Hey!” Sakamoto pipes up and leans more towards Mishima. “I did too!”

“Uh-huh,” Mishima snickers, leaning up closer.

“What time is it?” Amamiya asks, just before Mishima can get his mouth on Sakamoto’s.

“Who cares?” Sakamoto asks, grin stretching wider, leaning in to press his mouth to Mishima’s. Mishima wonders vaguely if he can taste Amamiya’s come.

“Your mom, probably,” Amamiya says, just a hint of laughter to his voice.

Sakamoto hums into the kiss and then gasps, pulling back so fast Mishima feels wind on his face. “Oh, _shit!_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> uh, anyway...
> 
> This probably won't be the last thing I do for these three and DEFINITELY not the last P5 thing (I took a break from writing a multi-chapter thing to work on this... so...) Check my twitter (@tobi_yos) if you want updates (albeit infrequent) and please, tonight, keep Mishima's thighs in your prayers


End file.
